


Wolfsbane

by Patryk1212



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29025150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patryk1212/pseuds/Patryk1212
Summary: A lonely Geralt gets to know someone new - and a new side of himself.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 10





	Wolfsbane

The sun had set many hours ago. Instead of it, the moon illuminated the willows and the small waters that lay strewn about the moor like pieces of a broken mirror, glowing as if on their own. If someone walked through this humid landscape with closed eyes, merely listening to the sounds of its inhabitants, one would be perplexed to find that, at a particular point, the chittering and chirping, cooing and croaking suddenly subsided only to make place for the crackling of fire and the calm yet fully awake breath of two men and a horse grazing a bit further away. If one paid attention to the smell surrounding this scenery, one would unsurprisingly notice the tangy smell of smoke, however mixed with something earthy, bitter and numbing. Opening their eyes, one would see that the men were sitting next to each other: One hunched with his red-brown hair hiding his gaze like a curtain, the other, with long white hair, sitting on a tree trunk, resting his palms on his lap and observing the fire lash about with its many crimson tongues while throwing a blue-flowered herb into it from time to time. The white-hair looked up from the fire, right at the spot where that particular one’s eyes would be, who would probably be taken aback by his bright orange irises surrounding cat-like slits, contracted to the point that they resembled the two sharp swords lying at his side on the ground, lying on their scabbards and glistening. But the white-hair did not see or smell anyone, nor did he hear anyone in a radius of at least a mile around their camp. He would have been surprised to notice anyone on his journey through this region, for these moors were usually avoided even by refugees running for their dear lives. He looked at his companion, whose face, on the other hand, rather resembled the grass he was sitting on. He truly pitied him, and thus asked in the friendliest tone he could muster: “How do you feel?”

“Shite”, his companion murred.

The white-hair decided to try humour. “You do look shite”, he chuckled.

“Thanks a lot”, the other murred back, unamused.

In an attempt to interrupt the ensuing silence, the white-hair changed the topic.

“How did you get here?”, he asked.

“By horse”, the other answered. “Was on my way to the next village, but the horse got scared of something. Threw me off and ran away without me. Arse.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. Bloedzuiger’s stench can knock out most smaller animals.”

“That thing you slew?”, the other wondered with a hint of a smile. “Lucky that the wind blew the other way, looks like I’d have thrown up from the smell alone if it didn’t.”

“You still look pale, though.”

“That’s cause it didn’t look appetising, either.”

“Hm, true”, the white-hair chuckled. “What’s your name?”

“Viggo. And yours?”

“Geralt.”

Something about the way he said his name made Viggo’s eyes light up, as if the confident tone of his deep voice let him forget his nausea for a bit. He felt he found someone … trustworthy? Friendly? Someone deeply fascinating and … beautiful.

Yes, beautiful. “Sounds fitting”, he thought aloud.

“Why?”, Geralt asked.

Pulled out of his thoughts, he stammered: “S-strong, manly name. Fit for a Witcher.”

To his surprise, Geralt did not make any mocking remarks like he feared; his otherwise blank expression made place for a genuine smile. Viggo had the feeling this was a rare sight.

“And what do you do?”, asked Geralt.

“I’m a botanist”, Viggo answered. “Though I also process plants into useful mixtures to earn more.”

“And what are you looking for in the village you mentioned?”

“Peace and quiet. And a roof above my head. And people who could pay me for my services.”

“Wouldn’t going to a town make more sense?”, Geralt wondered. “You being an academic and a professional.”

Viggo sighed. “No, because I wouldn’t find anything I’m looking for. What I would find is persecution, nights spent in the gutter and overzealous priests and frightened mobs who’d rather burn me alive than let me treat their ailments with anything more effective than prayers and incenses.”

“Now they’ll pray you’d come back, I reckon”, the Witcher jested.

“Hmm, nah”, Viggo said, comically tilting his head to one side.

They laughed together. In fact, this bad joke uncharacteristically sent them both into a laughing fit lasting so long they eventually lay breathless on the grass.

A long silence ensued; Viggo still occasionally giggled, Geralt did not make a sound. Geralt finally sat up again and began stoking the fire forcefully and throwing in more of the herb, trying to work off the conflict inside him. This was getting out of hand. He sought retreat from his vineyard in Toussaint because he was bored out of his mind, because everyone else, even Yennefer, had been off on some business travels for months; despite the fact she had actually planned to settle down with him pretty much forever. He just wanted to travel so he could distract himself from the loneliness he was feeling, not because he was desperate for love affairs with other men of all things.

Viggo noticed Geralt was brooding over something difficult. “Is something wrong?”, he asked.

“Are you hungry?”, Geralt evaded the question.

“Not really.”

“If you ate your nausea would pass away quicker. Have a piece of bread at least,” Geralt said sternly.

It was as if their light-hearted moment had never happened. Or Geralt wanted it to never have happened. But Viggo did not want to press him. “Alright”, he muttered and ripped a piece off the bread loaf that he took out of the saddle pouch lying near. But he did not take a bite, instead he kept observing Geralt’s expression: Staring stubbornly into the fire.

After an eternity, Viggo could not hold back anymore. “How do you feel, Geralt?”

Geralt was silent for a moment. “Shite”, he grumbled.

Viggo was tempted to use Geralt’s earlier riposte to lighten the mood but decided better.

“What do you mean, ‘shite’?”, he asked uncertainly.

“What do you care?”, Geralt snapped at him.

Viggo took his time to choose his words wisely.

“You saved me”, he answered slowly. “You let me camp here with you and offered me food. You are my friend and I owe you. So, I care about you.”

At the sound of the word “friend” Geralt’s expression softened, yet his eyes were still fixed on the fire. He was baffled anyone would trust him so quickly.

“I feel”, he began “…sad. And angry.”

“How come?”, asked Viggo.

“Don’t want to talk about it”, he muttered.

“Alright”, Viggo said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Unbelievable. Despite how the conversation had gone until now, Viggo still had the discipline not to question him further. Geralt felt so grateful and touched that he was eager to bluntly state what he longed for. But that would be impossible, how could he know Viggo would not reject him and leave as soon as he proposed it?

“No!”, he said louder than he meant to. “I mean … I don’t know if you could.”

“If it means paying you back, I’ll gladly do it - “

“I _don’t_ want to make you!”, Geralt growled.

“You can’t _make_ _me_ because I am willing to help you! Now tell me already!”, Viggo suddenly shouted impatiently. Geralt winced and released the flames from his gaze to shyly look at the ground before him.

“Could I … uh …”, he began almost inaudibly, nervously rubbing his neck. Viggo leaned in to hear him more clearly, trying to meet his eyes.

“Could I … hug you?”

Viggo was not sure he heard him right.

“… _hug me?_ ”, he asked with an insecure laugh.

“… without shirts.”, Geralt muttered.

Viggo straightened up and blushed. “Oh, um …”

“See”, Geralt sighed angrily. “It was a stupid idea.”

“No, no, no, it’s alright!”, he said gesturing reassuringly, let the bread piece fall to the ground and promptly took off his shirt. “There you go, now you just need to take off yours!”, he said with a smile.

Geralt was utterly surprised by the beautiful torso that presented itself to him: slim, yet slightly muscular and softly curved at the same time; Viggo’s skin looked impossibly smooth to the touch and Geralt could have sworn it glistened like snow; his arms were likewise slim, yet sinewy and seemed to bear a steadfast strength Geralt thought he could never value in a woman. Though before he did not notice it, now he could not help but admire his face as well: Tender lips, an adorable nose, evenly strewn freckles, like stars, under his dark blue eyes, like moonlit night.

Geralt gulped heavily, then did as he was told. Viggo stepped over to him and sat down beside him onto the trunk. Geralt was half a head taller than him and definitely stronger built. He was not bulky but seemed powerful like a held-down spring. Shoulders wide, slim waist, muscular arms. But all that was not what Viggo was interested in. A spider’s web of scars: thin, wide, straight, curved, jagged. All over his back, front, arms and neck. From swords, claws, teeth … _whips_. Viggo ran his fingers across those lines, almost fearing Geralt would flinch in pain. He did not, except for a particularly old looking scar; as he touched it, Geralt gasped almost unnoticeably.

“You … you went through so much”, he said. He did not know what else to say. Even though he should have felt impressed by his strength and apparent indestructibility, he could not help but feel dismayed and sad at the sight of it. A chill went down his spine at the thought of the things that had done this to him. If only they had met earlier, he thought, he could have spared him so much pain.

Geralt closed his eyes and bowed his head. “And yet I’m no stronger than before, nor wiser.”

Viggo laid his head on Geralt’s shoulder and gently wrapped his arms around his neck. Geralt stiffened involuntarily. But after a moment, he gave in and placed his hand on Viggo’s back. They sat together in this embrace for a long while.

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Do you know how small children learn the things they’re best at when they’ve grown up?”

“How?”

“By believing that they can move mountains. By believing they can do everything best and that they have already mastered any skill they explore. It doesn’t matter to them if they prove the opposite. The belief itself empowers them to become what they already believe themselves to be.”

Geralt smiled widely. “You didn’t tell me you’ve studied philosophy as well.”

“And no one’s ever told me before that Witchers are able to have self-doubts.”

“To be is to doubt, especially for a Witcher.”

“Huh, apparently they teach Witchers rhetorics, too.”

“ _Apparently_ , we have much to teach each other, yet.”

“I suppose. If we’re both _willing_ to learn.”

“Hm.”

Finally, Geralt opened his eyes. He slowly turned his head to look into Viggo’s face, now closer to his than ever. Orange gazed into blue.

“… Do I have to beg you?”, he whispered.

“… No.”

Their faces slowly came closer. The sides of their noses touched, then their foreheads. They felt eachother’s breath on their cheeks. Carefully, their lips met. And from the that meeting on, they quickly picked up pace.

Their hands clung at eachother’s heads and shoulders. They seemed to devour eachother with ever growing hunger, desperately, as if drowning and gasping for air. At the point of no return, Viggo threw himself onto Geralt’s lap, making him lose his balance. Together, they sunk behind the tree trunk and out of the light of the fire.

In the case that one had not been chased away by the Witcher’s unusual eyes before and witnessed the unusual conversation that took place, one would not see the two men anymore but still hear what happened in the cover of the dark. One would hear the still crackling fire, smell its fragrance, enriched with wolfsbane, see its tongue-like flames seemingly dart in and out of the starry, moonlit sky above.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my first fanfic!  
> Feel free to criticise it, but don't hurt me please (>_<)  
> Bear in mind English isn't my first language, so I apologise for any weird expressions, typos, etc.  
> Hope I'll ever come up with something like this again. See you around!  
> -Patryk


End file.
